seven days
by the general girl
Summary: Take my hand. — sakura-centric, sasusaku.
1. monday

**—**

**—**

**mondays**

**—**

**—**

The first time they were alone together after the final battle, Sakura came to a conclusion:

She hated Sasuke.

_Really_ hated him, a type of hate that left her stomach in knots and made her hands unsteady, which was unfortunate for him because right now, they were positioned right over his eyes.

His skin was soft to the touch, and she hated that too, that he'd stayed beautiful on the outside instead of turning into some scarred, ugly thing to match what he'd become on the in.

"I'm done."

Her voice cut through the quiet of the hospital room, and his eyes opened just as the flare of green around her fingers died away. She'd been given orders to check on his eyes and maintain the chakra blocks that'd been placed over the sharingan _just in case_.

Sasuke didn't look up, didn't nod, didn't give any sign he'd heard her before his lashes were fluttering shut again. Sakura bit her lip, concentrating on the shackles that chained his wrists to the bed and the red that ringed them, thought he might have had nightmares, might have pulled at the chains in his sleep, because he had certainly never struggled while he was awake. He never did much of _anything _while he was awake.

She curbed the urge to heal him and tried to steady her still trembling hands. She could hear the buzzing of summer cicadas through the open window, and the faint sound of people on the streets. In this room though, the air felt dead and heavy and wrong, and Sakura couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, of being far, far removed from everything. She was so aware of her heartbeat, of his when her hands had passed over his heart. Each inhale and exhale took a little something out of her, and the hate had never felt so strong; it was wet cement filling her insides, it was making it impossible for her to move. She could only stand there next to his bed, motionless and staring.

If she didn't move—if she didn't move now Sakura was sure she'd never be able to move again, rooted to the spot by him and this _thing_ in her belly.

She hated him. She hated him so much. She hated the things he'd done and she hated the fact that he'd been welcomed back by Naruto with open arms. She hated the fact that the blond had never lost faith in him and she hated the fact that she had. She hated it. She hated not knowing what had driven him so far and she hated knowing that even when she'd thought he was good and truly evil she'd loved him all the same.

She still does.

The sun had set before Sakura was finally able to move from the room.

**—**

**—**


	2. tuesday

**—**

**—**

**tuesday afternoon**

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**—**

"It's not his fault, you know."

Naruto's comment interrupted Sakura mid-bite. A second later and she was back to quietly eating her noodles.

"Anyone would've gone a little bit insane—it was his family, and circumstances—"

She put her chopsticks down then, and leveled a look at the blond, "I know that."

"Then why do you keep avoiding him? We _worked_ for this, Sakura-chan! It's like Team Seven's finally got Sasuke back, but—"

"What Team Seven? There _is _no—"

"—and now we've lost you! I know he's been an asshole, but, I don't know, we should have a little more—"

"—we're not a team anymore, haven't been for a _long _while Naruto. I'll always be your friend, I'll always love you, but—"

"—give and take?"

"—Team Seven isn't even a name on paper anymore, and don't you _dare_ compare his leaving to whatever you're accusing me of right now. Don't. You. Dare. I'm not going to pretend that I know how he felt, or even exactly why he left, or why he turned on us and attacked us and tried to kill us, because I don't. Maybe he even has perfectly valid reasons or excuses or—it doesn't matter."

Sakura took a deep breath, looked at Naruto's stricken face over her congealing noodles and sighed, pressed a hand over his; "I just need time. I think we all need time."

He didn't answer her, even as her hand left his and she took out enough money for both of their ramen and left it on the bar. He didn't say anything when she gathered up her bag and he didn't say anything even as she walked away. As badly as she wanted to stay and give him the reassurances he wanted, she left Naruto like that, alone and with a distinctly confused expression on his face.

**—**

**—**

(And anyway, wasn't it typical how easily Naruto connected with Sasuke? He understood where the Uchiha was coming from, and he understood where the Uchiha would go. There was never a question of Sasuke's goodness from Naruto, never a question of motive or heart. He trusted in an invariable _something _in Sasuke that Sakura hadn't. It was another way that they always made her feel strangely lacking and another reason for why she never spoke through the one hundred and twenty checkups she has given him.

Even now that those were over, even after Sasuke was released from the hospital and shunted off to one of the most derelict sections of the Uchiha compound under guard while he waited for his trial, she made it a point to never visit him and she made it a point to always refuse Naruto's invitations when he went. Having the power to say no—being _able_ to refuse—never failed to give her a spiteful sense of satisfaction.)

**—**

**—**

By the time she got back to the Hokage Tower from Ichiraku, Sakura was ten minutes late. Shizune herded her into the office with a small, tired smile, and Sakura braced herself for whatever hell her teacher was about to let loose on her—Tsunade wasn't the most patient of people at the best of times, and given the added stress of treaties, political upheaval, and rebuilding, the Hokage's temper had risen exponentially.

The woman looked up, eyes already narrowed, but instead of the tongue lashing she'd been expecting Sakura was only treated to a long _look_—it was remarkably similar to the one she'd given Naruto herself earlier.

"You're going to have to sort this out eventually."

Sakura had a feeling Tsunade probably hadn't just meant the stacks of files piled on her desk.

**—**

**—**

She wondered if time would really be enough.

**—**

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	3. wednesday

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**—**

**wednesdays**

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**—**

She has grown.

_She has grown_.

**—**

**—**

But it never felt enough anymore. There was no more satisfaction to be derived from splitting the ground or healing a hole in the heart. That sense of pride and accomplishment she'd had in the past—all gone. In its place was just an inexplicable sense of being left behind, and she was so sure that she'd gotten past all her issues the very first time that green chakra had flared around her fingers, so very sure that she'd found her footing in life.

Sakura wanted to be so sure again.

**—**

**—**

After she dropped Ino off at her apartment, she walked home alone. She'd had fun tonight with her old kunoichi friends; they—people in general—made that choking feeling go away. Work did the same thing.

It went beyond Sasuke now. It was…she didn't know what it was. All she knew was that she always woke up tired, that sometimes she wanted to lie on the floor in her room and just stay there, because if she stayed long enough and kept still long enough maybe she would be able to melt into the floor and out of herself.

**—**

**—**

"You're slipping."

Sakura winced at the blood welling up under the thin slice on her palm; she'd gone right through the latex glove. "Sorry shisou."

She was grateful that it'd only been an autopsy, if the cadaver in front of her had been a live patient, a screw up like this might have cost them their life.

Tsunade took the scalpel from the tray Sakura had dropped it in and resumed the autopsy in silence. Sakura had already healed her cut and put on a fresh pair of gloves when the Hokage spoke again, "You're banned from the operating room as of now."

"But Tsu—!"

"No buts. You _have_ been slipping, and it's my job to make sure that none of my doctors accidentally kill someone," she looked up then, and her eyes softened marginally, "just take a day or two off, Sakura. You're no use to anyone right now, and you deserve it."

Sakura opened her mouth to protest because _there was still so much to do_ and they were so undermanned, but Tsunade only shook her head, gesturing with a free hand towards the door of the lab, "You're dismissed—go."

**—**

**—**

The floorboard felt cool under her cheek, and the moonlight slanted through her open window, bars of light spilling across her back. The rest of the room was dark and quiet, and she hadn't moved since sunset.

She thought of all her failures, all the times she has had to step up and couldn't:

The hard touch of cold fingers at the back of her neck. The first patient she ever lost. Naruto's skin bubbling orange and the fanged snarl in her face. The old woman dead at her feet. Her trembling voice and the lies she has told. Her kunai shaking at the crest on his back.

And even when she stopped thinking at all, her eyes stayed open and unblinking until dawn.

**—**

**—**

"I thought you said I was banned."

"From the operating room, yes, but I'm assuming you can handle a few low level C or D-ranks?"

"Yes, shishou."

**—**

**—**

"I'll take first watch."

"Fine."

Sakura, already standing, looked down at Sasuke. He sat with his back hunched, staring into the fire. It was twilight now, and they hadn't spoken much from Konoha to the border. She guessed the seal that would yank the Uchiha back to Konoha the second he stepped over the boundary between Fire and River country placated any concerns the council had about his leaving again. Not that he's ever tried to escape. It's been a year since his trial, and the man had been nothing but a 'good citizen'. This mission—a routine border patrol—was nothing more than an exercise of trust, and Sakura served as nothing more than a babysitter. It rankled.

Being out here with Sasuke didn't help her at all; there was nothing to distract her from the steady pounding at her temple, nothing to distract her from herself. This far away from home, the prospect that she could keep going and never go back, could find a quiet patch of forest to lie on and disappear became so tempting, so appealing. If she did wander away in the middle of her watch, she didn't think that Sasuke would either notice or care.

"I'll be just outside of camp if you need me."

He didn't answer, and she left to brave the darkness alone.

**—**

**—**

"Do you still think you're better than me?"

The question even took Sakura by surprise, and it hung in the air between them. She'd come back to camp to tell Sasuke that it was time for his watch, and seeing him still awake, still staring into the fire, she'd blurted out the words before she had time to consider the consequences.

Asking Sasuke implied that she still cared. Being angry implied that she still cared. She didn't. Didn't didn't didn't.

He looked back at her steadily, "No."

"Then why—I just," her voice broke, "never mind. Take your watch."

Sakura sat down by her sleeping bag, trying as hard as possible not to look at him, even as her eyes were drawn to the movement of him standing up, his lean body unfolding into one long shadow in the space between them.

He paused by her side, "I was never better than you."

She would stay awake for the rest of the night.

**—**

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	4. thursday

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**—**

**thursday night**

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**—**

She didn't want to get up. She never wanted to get up again. She wanted to flatten herself against the floor and press press _press_ until each grain of wood was imprinted on her skin. She wanted to combust from the inside out and she wanted to never breathe again. She didn't want to die, she just wanted to

she just wanted to

stop.

**—**

**—**

Her door thumped open, and Uchiha Sasuke was suddenly staring impassively down at her prostrate body. Sakura vaguely thought that she should get up, should come up with a plausible explanation short of insanity, but she only managed to sit up before her hands were at her mouth, pressing back sobs.

**—**

**—**

A part of her dimly acknowledged that she was going to regret this come morning, and she hated herself too because she shouldn't be crying—there was no _reason_ for her to be crying except for this…what should she even call it? She wasn't sad, she wasn't—she just felt a crushing pressure in her chest day-in, day-out, and it made her do things like sleep on her floor and cry for no reason and sometimes she felt like she was going crazy with it, the feeling and the not-feeling, and sometimes she was _that _close to scratching her own eyes out—

**—**

**—**

He must've closed the door, because the next thing she knew he was sitting next to her, and when her hand found his and she _squeezed_, squeezed so hard that joints probably popped he didn't say a word, didn't pull away and didn't call her crazy, didn't tell her to get over herself and pick herself up off the floor because she was supposed to be so so strong—

He just stayed.

**—**

**—**


End file.
